


Trench-Coated Angel

by WickedlyAwesomeMe



Series: Guardian Angel [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Supernatural
Genre: Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Crossover, F/M, Hurt Hermione, I like pairing Hermione with a lot of people, I mean this should stop, Innocent and Beautiful Castiel, Rare Pairings, Supernatural Season 5 AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-04
Updated: 2018-08-04
Packaged: 2019-06-20 16:54:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15538758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WickedlyAwesomeMe/pseuds/WickedlyAwesomeMe
Summary: "I mean, you appeared to me in all your trench coat, blue eyes, and angel-powered glory, claiming that I'm important in some damn apocalypse," she softly slurred. "What's not there to love, Castiel?"Hermione/Castiel. 1st in "Guardian Angel" trilogy.





	Trench-Coated Angel

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, so this was posted in FFnet way, way back and I thought of posting it on this site too :)
> 
> This is set during the Apocalypse story arc of SPN season 5, with obvious changes to include Hermione.

The first time she saw him, there was a massive Death Eater attack in Manchester.

As the new Auror of the Department, twenty-five-year-old Hermione Granger was immediately sent to this mission, despite having unspoken qualms.

The Second War finally ended and the scars from the said war were still healing; it was a wonder as to why she chose to become an Auror in the first place. The-Boy-Who-Lived had opted to fly off to Australia and take a break for a while, together with his new wife, Ginny Weasley-Potter, to start a new life. Ron Weasley, on the other hand, chose an easy work in some random pub in Diagon Alley; like Hermione, his scars from the Second War were still raw and healing.

The moment her supervisor came inside her office, she knew that another grave attack from Death Eaters happened. Her blood ran cold just by listening to his instructions and it took all of her willpower not to have a panic attack. Images from the war, the tortures she had to endure and the screams that almost deafened her ears… all of them came rushing back.

Contrary to popular belief, Hermione Granger is still, and will always be,  _human_. Even though she was hailed as the brightest witch of her age, that did not exactly mean that she was the  _bravest_ person that had ever graced the Wizarding World. The Second War shook her and nightmares still visited her at night. Her parents, now un-Obliviated, kept on pestering her to see a psychiatrist but she sorely refused – after all, with that brain of hers, her ego was bound to get hurt.

Thus, here was she now, running frantically towards a house that bore the infamous green, Dark Mark. Even though Voldemort had fallen, his followers still ran amok. Their vow for vengeance was so great that their attacks became frequent and dangerous. In fact, the Death Eater attacks multiplied from the time when their Dark Lord was still their commander.

The screams of the people still reached her ears and she tried her best to calm herself down.

"Constant vigilance," she muttered to herself, muttering a powerful  _Aguamenti_ to douse the fire that was destroying the whole street. Silently terrified, she blindly grabbed an injured civilian one after another and brought them to the designated apparition spots. Oh, how she longed to apparate along with them and disappear from this godforsaken ruin into the safe confines of her humble apartment!

Her mind was then brought to the present when a whizzing Killing Curse barely grazed her ear. She released a horrified scream and turned around, instantly stunning the Death Eater who would have been responsible for her imminent death.

Fear gripped her heart and she wryly smiled. How the  _mighty_ Gryffindor Princess had fallen. It was tiring to keep up a pretense of bravery when all she could feel was helplessness and terror. It amazed her how people marvelled her obvious bravado, looking up to her and making her an inspiration when she herself desperately needed one.

' _The war is done,'_ she told herself for the umpteenth time. It was a little trick that she developed ever since she woke up in St. Mungo's - bloodied, battered, and almost broken. That little phrase, although simple, helped her wake up from another nightmare-filled sleep and urged her to continue living.

It was a pity how the fire in her eyes had considerably dimmed from all the horrors she had witnessed. It especially wavered upon being tortured by Bellatrix Lestrange in the Malfoy Manor. People said she had changed, but then again, who wouldn't when you were forced to be at the front, defending a side in a war that you never wanted to be a part of?

Her friends were worried for her, especially the Weasleys. They kept on persuading her to resign from her job as an Auror, seeing that it wasn't healthy for her. But Hermione refused to listen; she still firmly believed that doing this would cure her from the brokenness. She must be strong again, be the Hermione Granger they used to know, so that in the end, everybody would be happy.

A sudden shout from the distance snapped her off from her stupor. Her legs carried her towards the scene but white light almost blinded her eyes. She looked away and shielded her eyes, the tortured screams of people ringing loudly in her ears.

Soon, the white light disappeared and Hermione slowly looked at the scene once again. She blinked her eyes to adjust and quickly rose up her wand hand upon seeing the state of what was in front of her.

Death Eaters, she realized, were sprawled unconsciously on the dirtied floor. Perhaps there were twenty or more of them, lifelessness in their eyes as they stared heavenward. Once again, the fear greatly gripped her heart and her wand hand shook; whoever had done this must be powerful enough to even smite her.

Amidst the fallen Death Eaters, one man stood in contrast. He was bizarrely clean even though he stood in a battlefield. He was probably in his late twenties, with windswept hair and a beige trench coat to complete his look. His blue eyes were boring intently into hers and her mind instantly drew into a blank. 

He opened his mouth to speak, but a sudden voice calling for her name stopped him.

"AUROR GRANGER!"

Hermione blinked and looked away from him. From the distance, she could see a hysterical Kingsley Shacklebolt running towards her side. She gazed at him for a while before looking back at the trench-coated man, but he was already gone.

"Are you quite all right?" Kingsley asked.

She nodded, quite distracted, before allowing her fellow Auror to grip her hand.

Before she knew it, she was back in the Ministry of Magic.

* * *

The next time she saw him, it was a perfectly normal day.

It was her day-off - a blessedly coveted day - and Hermione decided to take a quick stroll in Diagon Alley. She visited Ron but immediately left, finding herself at a loss of what to do and say to him. After the war, she knew that there was this unspoken gap between her and her best friends – a gap that she knew would only heal after some time.

Hermione made some quick stops in Gringotts and other shops, before deciding to finally stroll inside Flourish and Blotts. The smell of old books greeted her senses and she sighed, a small smile painting her pale face. For a moment, all of her memories of the Second War were buried at the back of her mind.

For a moment, she felt like her old self once again.

Hermione stayed for a while, grabbing some books hither thither and reading them. She was so engrossed in her reading and when she looked up from the latest book that she was holding, it was already night time.

Deciding she had had enough, Hermione stood up from the floor at the very back of the bookstore and arranged the books she wished to buy for today. It did not surprise her that the books weighed a ton and she had to walk slowly just so they would not fall down from her hands.

It was perhaps chance, coincidence, or something else. Every time she remembered this certain event, she had this inkling that  _he_ had done it on purpose just so they could meet again.

Due to her books blocking her sight, Hermione was not able to see this small ladder. It was already too late when she noticed it; she bumped against it and her tower of books sprawled messily on the floor. The ladder wobbled precariously and she knew it would be too late already if she brandished her wand and shielded herself.

As she waited for the inevitable fall, she held her breath and closed her eyes. To her utmost surprise, the impact did not happen.

She at first opened her right eye to peek. With a frown, an arm was shielding the ladder from hitting her. Both of her eyes were now opened and widened, knowing that it had probably hurt whoever stopped the ladder's fall.

"I'm so sorry, I should have been - "

Her words died down as she found herself staring at the familiar blue eyes of the trench-coated man. A scream sat at the tip of her tongue but she never had the chance to release it. A horrified look crossed on the face of the mysterious man before he stepped back and disappeared right before her eyes.

She stood there, dumbstruck, as a store clerk jogged towards her place.

"Is everything all right, miss?" he kindly asked.

Hermione wordlessly nodded before pulling out her wand. With a simple wave, all of her books were neatly stacked and hovering. She directed them towards the counter and paid for them, before leaving and apparating back to her apartment.

That night, she could not keep her mind off  the trench-coated man. When he disappeared, she swore that there were the sounds of wind and wings, not the familiar pop of apparating she was accustomed of.

When she fell asleep, she dreamt of his startling blue eyes.

* * *

After that day, she swore that the trench-coated man was now following her wherever she went. At first, she thought it was merely a trick of her mind, but when she saw him in one of their monthly Auror meetings, Hermione started to grow alarmed.

One minute, he was there and his familiar eyes would be staring right back at her. But if she blinked for just a fraction of a minute, he'd be gone once again, leaving her frustrated.

Maybe, she was just growing insane.

Her Auror workload had doubled, seeing that there were more Death Eaters rebelling. Although there were no events that were similar from her first encounter with the strange, trench-coated man, she could still sense him lurking around, away from prying eyes.

Months passed and the man continued to appear and disappear wherever she went. Soon, her senses adjusted, enabling her to sense him whenever he was in the vicinity. It was starting to freak her out when one time, she caught him inside her bedroom. Before she could even attack him, once again, he disappeared.

"I'm mad," she muttered to herself, allowing her forehead to touch the cold surface of the table in a small, Muggle coffee shop near her apartment. In front of her was a steaming mug of coffee, patiently waiting to be drunk.

Perhaps it was just the stress from work and her friends. After all, she read somewhere that stress could mess up with one's mind.

Hermione expelled a soft sigh and lifted her face from the table. She nursed the cup of coffee in her hands and allowed herself to calm down. She sipped the hot beverage and chanced a glance outside the vast window of the coffee shop.

Outside was a busy street, with random cars passing by. The Muggle world had always been her escape, her  _hiatus,_ especially after the Second War. The ignorance on their faces always calmed her down, reassuring that the Second War had truly been done. Back in Diagon Alley, sometimes, she would see tensed and horrified gazes, eyes shifting nervously around in fear of having another random Death Eater attack.

While mindlessly staring, she once again saw the strange, trench-coated man and narrowed her eyes. He was standing at the opposite side of the street, his hands deep inside his pockets. His fascinating blue eyes were once again trained intently at her form, his silent observation unnerving her. 

Hermione finally decided that this must stop already. She purposely stood up and stomped away from the shop, her eyes never leaving the mysterious man. He continued to stare at her, his head slightly tilted to the side, but when he realized that she was approaching him, his eyes widened.

"If you disappear once again, I  _swear_ , I am going to hunt you!" she hissed, loud enough for him and some of the passersby to hear.

He paused, perhaps mid-disappearance, and strangely looked at her. Hermione ignored the quizzical looks thrown her way and roughly grabbed the arm of the trench-coated man. She dragged him in some dark alley, away from prying eyes, and when she finally stopped, she swivelled around and pulled out her wand.

Menacingly, she pressed it under the strange man's chin and glared. "I've had enough," she whispered softly. "What do you want from me?"

A soft sigh escaped from his lips. Hermione almost jumped when his hand calmly held her shaking wand hand. "There is no need to be frightened, Hermione," he said. She was struck with the fact that it was the first time she heard him speak. That, and that his voice was soft, almost melodic, and sported an American accent.

And of course, the fact that he addressed her by her first name.

"You've been stalking me," she accused, pressing her wand harder against his chin. She was annoyed that he did not at least flinch in pain. "I've seen you, lurking around…  _following_ me."

His hand enclosed around her wand hand and he gingerly pulled her hand away from him. It surprised her she obliged, but she still stood her guard. Her hand tightened around her magical stick, ready to attack in case he assaulted her.

"My powers had been declining," he worriedly said, frowning. "I wasn't meant to be seen, Hermione. I apologize."

"Powers?" she asked, flabbergasted. "What are you talking about? And you admitted you've been  _stalking_ me!"

"I believe  _protecting_ is a more appropriate term," he corrected, once again tilting his head in confusion.

She glared.

His eyes slightly widened and he frowned. "I've caused you distress," he pointed out in understanding. When she crossed her arms and tensed, he sighed and looked away. "I apologize once again. I did not notice."

She blinked, surprised with the guilt in his voice.  _'For a stalker, he seemed awfully polite,'_ she lightly mused.

Slowly, her arms fell limp at her sides. She mirrored his frown, confused herself. "You said you were protecting me," she said. "I don't understand." When he looked back at her, her frown deepened. "And you know my name. Who are  _you_ , exactly?"

"I'm Castiel," the trench-coated man replied. "And I am an Angel of the Lord."

Hermione stared at him for a full minute, expecting for his punch line. When it did not come, she snorted in disbelief. "Right," she drawled. "And I am Hermione, a Witch of Hecate."

He, Castiel, merely stared at her. He neither cracked a smile nor released a laugh. Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped, but still, no punch line came. "You are serious," she stated.

"Well, I find no other reason to joke, Hermione," Castiel politely said.

The brunette took a sharp intake of breath and warily stepped away from him. She lifted her wand hand once again and glared at him. "You are mad," she accused him. Silently, she was amused when a while ago, she had called herself as such, too. "Undoubtedly so." She turned away from him and clutched her head. "I must be dreaming, bloody hell." She quietly admitted to herself that she'd rather have her nightmares than this strange trench-coated man.

She tensed when she heard his footsteps. Hermione quickly whipped around and threateningly pointed her wand at him. Once again, he did not show any signs of fear. "I'm warning you," she growled. "If you take one single step towards me, I'm going to hex you until the next millennium!"

Castiel, unfazed, took another step forward. A spell tore away from her mouth but the trench-coated man calmly stepped aside. Her spell had hit a spot on the wall, leaving a small dent.

She stared at him, open-mouthed. The spell she exclaimed was guaranteed to hit her opponent in a split second. Only something non-human could do that. "How did you - ?"

"I'm an Angel of the Lord," he repeated once again, this time with sound conviction.

Hermione closed her mouth and closed her eyes. She took a sharp intake of breath before opening her brown eyes once again. "I am delusional," she claimed, swivelling around and walking away from him. She refused to look over her shoulders, to  _confirm_ her madness, but then, she did not have to because she bumped her head against his chest.

"We need to talk," Castiel said, holding both of her arms. She struggled, unwittingly terrified, but he held onto her arms tighter.

"Let me go," she quietly begged.

Castiel was surprised by the tone of her voice and submitted to her pleas. He took a step back when she pulled away from him, once again walking away.

"Don't follow me," she silently added, a warning in her voice. Castiel blinked, before nodding, prompting her to sigh in relief.

Hermione then turned around and massaged her aching temples.

She was mad.  _Definitely_.

* * *

"What are you doing here?" she hissed, wrenching Castiel's hand away from the displayed Foe Glass in Kingsley's office.

The trench-coated angel innocently blinked. "Witches and wizards are far more fascinating than ordinary humans," he softly announced, once again staring at the magical artifact. "I'm quite amazed these things had never been discovered in the normal world."

Hermione sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose. Ever since their little encounter back in Muggle London, Castiel became more and more prominent in her daily activities. He was, simply put, increasingly  _annoying_  and he did not even notice it. There was this certain air of a child-like innocence that seemed to envelop his whole form; it was hard for Hermione to believe that he was actually a grown man… or angel… whatever.

She finally surrendered to the fact that Castiel was an "Angel of the Lord", no matter how bizarre it was. He did things that neither magical nor non-magical beings could do. When she asked him to show her his true form, he refused, saying that if he did so, her eyes would be liquefied.

" _I know you are an angel, and I know that you might be magnificent,"_ she told him after his explanation.  _"But don't you think that you are being too, I don't know, egotistical?"_

He merely stared back at her, slightly confused.  _"I meant it literally, Hermione,"_ he claimed back.

She sighed, her mind already brought back to the present. She glared warily at the angel standing beside her. "What if people see you here?" she asked. "They'd freak out."

"You are the only one who can see me," he simply answered back. "I have the ability to make myself invisible to others."

The brunette once again sighed, this time through her nose, and apparated back to her apartment. Castiel soon followed, together with the 'wind and wings' effect of his. She trudged towards one of her couch and plopped down, warily looking at the angel who was standing awkwardly at the middle of her living room.

Somehow, he had grown to her. He could be annoying,  _yes_ , but Hermione found herself amused by some of his antics, too. Like what she had observed, he had this child-like innocence that made him amazed and confused at the same time by normal things that were happening around her. He was  _always_ serious, which made him ironically hilarious to Hermione, and, well, his sincerity was endearing.

A few more weeks passed and Hermione soon found herself the one observing him instead.

She knew there was a purpose as to why he was trailing her like a dog. Hermione never really got the chance to ask why, seeing that she was busy with work and life, generally. But now, here alone with Castiel in her apartment, Hermione figured it was the right time to have answers already.

"Don't you want to sit, Cas?" she lightly asked.

The angel inclined his head and plopped down on the chair opposite hers. He sat upright and poised, depriving himself of comfort and luxury that he probably deserved. And to think that the chair that he was sitting was the most comfortable thing in her living room.

"Look, Castiel," she started. "I know that you are sent here to protect me, but I can assure you that I can protect myself. I am a grown woman; I've been through battles and all. I am sure that's a valid reason to leave me alone now, yes?"

To her surprise, he shifted his eyes away, a look of guilt appearing on his face.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "You're not telling me something," she pointed out.

He balled his hands into fists and continued to look away from her. "Cas…" she said, a tone of warning in her voice.

Finally, the angel sighed and looked back at her. "I was told to protect you," he repeated for the umpteenth time. "I  _swore_ to protect you." His jaw tightened and he tensed once again. "There is a new war coming, Hermione, and you are to play a vital role."

At the mention of a war, blood drained from her face.

He frowned at the look on her face. "I told them you are not yet ready," he offered, wanting to calm her down. "You are far too broken and emotionally injured from the trauma you received from the Second War of your world. But they are persistent… the  _angels_ are persistent." Castiel leaned closer and peered at her pale face. "You are needed by Heaven… by the Winchesters, Hermione."

She involuntarily shook and averted her eyes away from him. "A war?" she softly asked. "What war?"

"A war between Heaven and Hell," he elaborated. "A war between Michael and Lucifer."

The brunette glared at her shaking hands. "W-what?" she stammered. "I-I don't understand."

"The Apocalypse is at hand," Castiel explained. "The world is about to end and there will be utter chaos if Lucifer won."

Hermione was surprised when Castiel was now standing right in front of her. "You are chosen to aid the Winchesters," he continued. "The power you bore is tremendous and useful; you will surely be of great help."

Silence met his revelation. Hermione still refused to look into his deep,  _comforting_ blue eyes. Unwanted tears already gathered at the corner of her eyes, shaken by the weight of his words.

Her? Chosen? Heaven and Hell? Michael and Lucifer?

' _A war?'_ a meek voice, one that was broken and traumatized of everything she had seen and endured, whispered at the back of her mind. Just the mere idea already shook her to the core. A large lump formed in her throat and terror once again gripped her heart.

"Hermione…"

"Leave," was all she could say. She shielded her watery eyes from his searching, blue ones. She was afraid she would breakdown right there and then, in front of the goddamn  _Angel of the Lord_.

After a flutter of wind and wings, Hermione was all alone in her apartment. She allowed the sobs to finally escape from her mouth and earnestly cried for the whole night.

* * *

"I can see you, you know."

Hermione quirked up a small smile as Castiel peeked from behind the massive bookshelf. "Your angel powers must really be declining, Angel Boy," she pointed out. "People are starting to notice you, too."

The trench-coated angel looked around, confirming her statement. Some of the people inside the Muggle library had their eyes glued on the strange man. Castiel blinked before turning back at Hermione.

She could see the hesitation in his eyes, at loss of what to do. It had been exactly a week ever since she ordered him to leave after he revealed his true intentions. Castiel had never appeared right in front of her, but she knew he still followed her everywhere.

It was frightening how she was comforted by that mere thought.

For the whole week, she also pondered about the words that he had told her. She was to once again be part of a great war, the  _Apocalypse,_ for goodness' sake. Hermione wanted to run away from this, from the fact that she was chosen, but she knew it would be undoubtedly futile. This was Him that they were talking about; the Creator and Father of all things. She'd be an absolute goner if she refused to follow his commands. She'd rather not be eaten by a whale and then spewed out from its guts once they arrive in America, thank you very much.

With this revelation, her nightmares of the Second War intensified. They grew more vivid and terrifying, prompting her to wake up with a scream or a cry. This discouraged her more, once again silently praying as to why, of all people, she was the one  _chosen_.

Castiel was right after all; she was not yet ready. It was true that she was broken and traumatized of everything that had happened in the Second War. If she were to partake in another war, then she was afraid she'd be forever broken beyond repair.

"Stop staring at me," she softly ordered, lightly glaring at the angel.

He guiltily smiled and approached her. When she made no refusal or protestation, he sat down opposite her and stared. "Have you made your decision?" he softly asked. He was choosing his words carefully, that much she knew. Hermione was actually touched by the fact that he was _concerned_.

"I'm fine, thank you," she retorted back sarcastically.

Castiel grew confused. "Did I ask the wrong question?" he asked with a frown. "I clearly remembered… I didn't…"

"Sarcasm, Castiel," she pointed out with an amused smile.

"Oh," was all that he could say. "I am still baffled by this surprising way of answering. Forgive me."

Hermione sighed and shook her head. "You are…  _infuriating_ ," she told him with a light glare.

"I am?" he asked, surprised. He frowned when she did not smile. In fact, he seemed troubled by her accusation. "I have distressed you once again, Hermione. I apologize."

A chuckle escaped from her lips. Loud shushing from the people inside the library reached her ears and she immediately calmed down. Her cheeks were inflamed as she grinned at Castiel, who, amused, had a corner of his lips quirked up for a little smile.

"Have you made your decision?" he asked once again after a moment of silence.

Hermione sighed and shook her head. "Has it ever occurred to you that I'm avoiding that question, Cas?" she asked. He nodded his head in honesty and she smiled. "That's what I've thought, but then, of course, it is your  _duty_ to make me agree."

"You will be of great help," he quickly assured. "You can save lives, Hermione."

"Of course I know that," she shot back with a frown. "I've been in a war before, remember? I'm the  _al_ _mighty_ Hermione Granger."

Castiel pursed his lips. "Did I detect sarcasm?" he softly asked.

An amused laugh escaped from her lips. "Yes, you did," she said, reaching out to pat his hand. "Very good, Castiel." She retrieved back her hand and ran it through her bushy, brown hair. "This… Apocalypse that you claim… is it really near?"

The angel sombrely nodded. "It is written," he said. "And it is happening now."

"But you're asking me to help you and the, err, Winchesters," she said. "Help you with what? Bringing the Apocalypse to the whole world? No offense, but that seemed a little… evil?"

A troubled look appeared on Castiel's face and he fidgeted on his seat. "The Winchesters are quite adamant in refusing to follow their destiny," he said. "Heaven believes that with you in their presence, you will be able to aid them into playing their roles in the coming Apocalypse."

Hermione frowned at the obvious conflict on his face. "But then, you want to help the Winchesters in refusing to follow their destiny, Castiel," she pointed out matter-of-factly. "Why is that?"

He paled. "I don't know what you are talking about," he quickly said.

She opened her mouth, wanting to pester him further on this matter, but thought otherwise in the end. Castiel looked very uncomfortable and she decided it would be best if she did not persuade him to tell her the truth. Instead, she muttered a soft "Yes", much to the angel's confusion.

"Pardon?"

"I meant, yes, Castiel, you can bring me to the Winchesters so that I can help them with this Apocalypse problem," she finally said, sighing through her nose. "God knows how much I want to say 'no', though."

"My Father knows everything," he assured her.

"Merlin, Cas, that was just an…" Her words died down upon seeing the bright smile on his face. Hermione found herself smiling back at the strange angel sitting opposite her. "If something happened to me, though…"

"I swore to protect you," he stated.

Hermione smiled, feeling a little better. "I know you did," she said.

* * *

"We've arrived," Castiel declared as they stood outside what Hermione perceived as a scrap yard. Broken cars were scattered everywhere and at the middle of it stood an average-looking house.

The brunette furrowed her brows and stared at the large signage in front of the scrap yard. The words "Singer Salvage Yard" greeted her eyes and she frowned. She turned to the patient angel beside her and asked, "Here?"

The angel nodded and smiled. "Do not underestimate Bobby Singer, Hermione," he said. "He also plays a vital role in the lives of the Winchesters."

"I didn't say anything," she said with a sigh, already trudging towards the house. Castiel easily walked beside her, what with the long legs of his vessel. She discovered long before that angels have their own one, true vessel and it turned out that Castiel's was an average man named Jimmy Novak. Angels must have the consent of their vessels before possessing them. From what she had heard from the trench-coated angel, Mister Novak had long been "dead" in the hearts and minds of his previous family.

"Do they know I'll be here?" she asked once they stood in front of the door.

Castiel grimaced. "I have not talked to Dean for quite a while now," he answered. "I am sure they will be surprised. But you need not worry, Hermione; they are of gentle natures."

Hermione nodded and lifted her hand, softly knocking at the door. Muffled footsteps from the inside reached her ears and there were hushed voices that followed. After a few minutes, the door was surprisingly opened with a bang. Three men stood behind the door; at the middle was an old man, at his right was a man with a leather jacket, and at his left was the tallest of the lot, with his hair slightly longer than the other two. What surprised her, though, was the fact that all of them were pointing guns at her and Castiel.

With wide eyes, the brunette looked back at the calm angel. "Should I worry now?" she softly asked him.

"CAS!" the man with the leather jacket exclaimed. He lowered his gun and took a few steps forward, surprise clearly etched on his face. "Where the hell have you been, you ass? We've been calling you for months now."

"Hello, Dean," Castiel greeted back with a small smile.

"And still he says a mere hello," the tallest man exclaimed, although a large smile also adorned his handsome face.

Castiel looked at him for a while before nodding. "It's good to see you, Sam," he earnestly said.

"Yes, well…" the tall man, Sam, said with that boyish grin of his.

Hermione awkwardly licked her lips and stared at the three men opposite her with wide eyes. They seemed to realize that she was flanking the angel's side for all of their eyes were now trained intently on her.

"Who's the chick?" Dean asked.

"An acquaintance," Castiel quickly answered, ushering them inside. Hermione was thankful that they've pocketed their guns already. Her wand hand itched beside her pocketed wand, though; if she were to be suddenly attacked, it would be good if she was ready.

"You've been gone for months and once you come back, you bring a lady friend," Dean joked, staring at her with amused eyes. "I've taught you well, man."

Hermione frowned at his obvious insinuation. "I am merely a friend," she repeated once again.

Dean flinched while Sam raised an eyebrow. "She's British?" the tallest of the three exclaimed in surprise.

She answered him with a nod.

A look of distrust suddenly appeared on Dean's face. To her surprise, he pulled out his gun once again and pointed it directly at her face. "How do you know she will not be all Bela Talbot on us, Cas?" he asked.

She was confused with his choice of words as much as the angel standing beside her.

"I… was ordered to bring her here," Castiel explained. "She is to aid you with the Apocalypse."

The old man spoke for the first time. "Put your gun down, boy," he ordered, placing a hand on Dean's pointed gun. He forced it down and scrutinized the brunette. "How will she aid us with the Apocalypse?"

Beside her, she could feel Castiel's sudden reluctance to answer. "Her powers are… immense," he vaguely explained. "She can do whatever is needed from her."

"Powers?" Sam asked. "She's an angel, too?"

"A witch, actually," Hermione said.

Identical looks of disgust flitted their faces, much to her surprise.

"Cas, of all women in the world…" Dean said with a grimace. "Black magic… rabbit's foot…  _warts and all_."

"Excuse me, but I think you are talking about a completely different kind of witches here, you git," she drawled, her fury rising.

Dean comically looked at the others in surprise. "She cursed me," he said with awe. "In  _British_."

"Dean," Castiel said, coming to her aid. "She is of a completely different race of witches and wizards. They are practically hidden from the world, bound by their Statute of Secrecy. And they  _do not_ practice black magic. Umm… certain people does, though - "

"But, I'm not one of them," she proudly said, glaring darkly at the man with the leather jacket. "I actually  _hunt_ those kinds of magical beings, thank you very much." Hermione frowned and turned to Castiel. "Are you quite sure it is all right for me to be here, Cas?"

The angel sighed in exhaustion and warily looked at everybody in the room. "I think it is best if we all rest for now," he suggested. "I know things are starting to change, but I can assure you all that everything will be better in the end."

"You heard the angel," the old man said, stepping forward to calm the tensed ambiance in the room. "English lady," he said, addressing the brunette.

" _Hermione_ ," she corrected.

"Yes, Hermione," he said, "I have spare room upstairs. I'm sure you can use it and do your… womanly activities."

The brunette hesitantly looked at Castiel. When he nodded his head, she broke into a small smile and followed Bobby upstairs.

From the living room, she could already hear a heated argument, mostly by what she reckoned as Dean Winchester, and then sighed.

If she were to help these so-called Winchesters, she just prayed to the cosmic powers above they would at least all get along.

* * *

She woke up with a small scream.

Hermione sat upright and shakily wiped away the beads of sweat that formed on her forehead. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, trying to calm her frantically beating heart. 

Her small room in Bobby's house suddenly felt a little restricted; therefore, Hermione grabbed her blanket, wrapped it around her shoulders, and decided to spend some time in the living room. She'd be damned if she fell asleep once again and dreamt another godforsaken nightmare about her experience during the Second War.

Bare-footed, she padded downstairs and strolled inside the living room. The Winchesters and Bobby were already sound asleep in their own rooms, which was actually quite surprising. They normally spent sleepless nights in Bobby's study, talking mostly about how to avert their destinies from becoming the vessels of Michael and Lucifer and things about the Apocalypse. Tonight seemed different, she reckoned. And, well, she was happy that they were resting now.

It had been two months now ever since Castiel brought her to Bobby Singer's house. Although, for the first few weeks, there was a tensed atmosphere whenever Hermione was with the other three, they started to adjust around her. Dean had been the wariest of them all, but after some stories Sam quietly exchanged to her, she understood his situation. In fact, she started to respect the older Winchester.

Bobby was like a rough, yet warm-hearted uncle she never had. True, he could be drunk sometimes, but despite his somehow potty mouth and cranky moods, he could be the sweetest, old drunk she had ever laid eyes on. For a span of two months, she grew fond of him and him of her.

Sam was probably the person she was most comfortable with. He instantly had her respect when she discovered he was supposed to study in Stanford. His intellect amazed Hermione and sometimes, they would have their "Nerd Talks" coined by Dean Winchester, and the brunette would just be happy to exchange some intellectual ideas with a fellow,  _ahem_ , nerd.

So far, her life in America had been startlingly  _better_ than the few years of her adjustments in Britain after the Second War. Their whole life as hunters immensely fascinated Hermione and, well, their different attitudes were refreshing. Sometimes, she would be with them when planning; seldom, she would tag along during a monster hunt. It amazed her how much hope they had in them – hope that they could still defy the orders of Heaven and continue being a family and all.

She was envious, if she were to describe it. The hope that was instilled in them was long gone from her system. She wished that perhaps, after spending some more time with the Winchesters, she could start being hopeful, too.

Her mind was brought back in the present when she beheld the state of Bobby's living room. A disgruntled sigh escaped from her lips, shaking her head disapprovingly upon seeing the empty bottles of beer and boxes of pizza. After settling with Bobby and the Winchesters, Hermione made it a point to tidy up the whole house. In fact, she made it a point to also cook them food as often as possible.

Dean pointed out she was turning into a mother, which she did not mind. Although their jokes were rampant every time she would cook them some food or find her wearing an apron and clutching a feather duster, she knew that seeing a female running amok in the household was a breath of fresh air for them.

The brunette then meandered through the scattered books on the floor and plopped down on a miraculously neat couch. She tightened her blanket around her shoulders and leaned her head against the backrest, expelling a soft sigh of contentment.

She then closed her eyes and smiled when a rustle of wind and wings reached her ears.

"I didn't call for you," she whispered, cracking one eye open. Castiel stood quietly at the opposite end of the room, with his head tilted and his brows furrowed deeply.

"You were loudly calling for me in your mind, Hermione," he simply said.

The brunette completely opened her eyes and gave him a full-blown smile. "Guilty," she said. When he continued to curiously look at her, she sighed, knowing quite well that the angel was starting to get a little impatient. "I had a nightmare," she explained. "And I needed a friend, Angel Boy."

Hermione daintily patted the empty spot beside her. "Come sit with me, Cas," she said.

The trench-coated angel strode towards her and heeded her request. Once he was settled down, his shoulders tensed and his back ramrod straight, Hermione clicked her tongue. "You can relax around me, remember?" she asked, reaching for his arm and tugging him closer to the couch. "It's just me."

He pointedly looked at her and she sighed. "How many times do I have to remind you that I'm not some duty of yours anymore?" she asked. "You're my friend, Castiel."

Once again, he frowned at her address to him. "I am still confused as to why you regard me as such," he said.

"Dean, Sam, and Bobby are your friends, too," she said, frustrated. Hermione thought she was talking to a five-year-old child. "Why do all angels have to make everything so…  _complex_?"

To her surprise, he quirked up a small smile. "My Father designed us to be simple, Hermione," he corrected. "It is the Human race which He made complex, so to speak."

"True," she said with an indulgent smile. 

Silence settled between the two of them for a while and Hermione allowed it.

Among all of the four people (well, people and  _angel_ ), Castiel was the one she instantly became the closest with. Perhaps, it was because he swore to protect her and all that rubbish, but Hermione found herself constantly coveting his company.

The first time she had a nightmare in her new room, it was his name that she called out first. Thankfully, he did not fail her, and although she never uttered a word while he was in the room, he stayed by her side until she told him he could go.

It was becoming a routine – of her calling for him every time she had a nightmare. The trench-coated angel would always arrive without any fail. Thus, Hermione knew that sooner or later, she would trust him in the end.

"Did you dream of Hogwarts again?" he then asked, breaking the silence.

She silently nodded her head for her answer. "It was a little…  _vivid_ tonight, Castiel," she said with a forlorn smile. "But, hey, I'm still alive and kicking." Hermione scooted closer to him and felt him tense up beside her. Quite amused, she grabbed one of his hands and gave it a squeeze. She instantly felt comforted, prompting her to smile once again. "I saw Fred's death again."

"One of the Weasley twins?" he asked. When she nodded, he awkwardly patted her head. "He is happy in his own heaven now, Hermione. Well, I haven't been there lately, but I still believe he is."

"Thanks," she said, placing her head on his shoulder. "That is somehow comforting, you know."

"I am still trying to perfect my 'people skills'," he said. "I am glad it is working."

Hermione giggled at his truthfulness. "Now, enough about me," she said. "What is happening with the whole Apocalypse fiasco now?"

He tensed up once again and she absentmindedly rubbed his hand that she was holding. Gradually, the angel started to relax. A wide yawn tore away from her mouth and she blinked back sleep. "I am… working on it," he said. "Do not worry yourself over this. It is late at night."

"Hmm," she muttered, gently closing her eyes.

A memory from before resurfaced in her mind and she smiled. Before, she asked him if Castiel really wanted for Dean and Sam to truly do their roles for the Apocalypse, and she clearly remembered he was hesitant to answer. After observing him for the whole month of her stay in Bobby's house, his answer gradually came.

Castiel never voiced it aloud, but he had this soft spot for the Winchesters, especially Dean. She was horrified at first when she discovered that Dean had been to hell for four months, before Castiel pulled him out from perdition. Ever since that day, they shared a certain bond that was different from anything she had ever seen before.

Dean and Sam were still adamant of stopping the Apocalypse, of believing that they could change their destiny. She could see that Castiel was distressed over this matter  _at first_. After all, he was still an Angel of the Lord and he wanted to follow his orders. But the conflict in him grew as he spent more time with the Winchesters. She could tell the angel was fascinated with them, perhaps, even a little envious. Angels were never created to have a free will, and to see two of his friends exercising it… well, he was amazed.

It was now common knowledge in the Singer's household that Castiel was at their side. The rebellious streak in him formed and he was now doing everything he could to help the Winchesters. She knew that Dean and Sam were thankful for his aid; after all, they were still battling against the angels. To have one siding with them, a powerful one, to be exact, was mostly the reason why they were still alive.

Her mind was brought back to the present when Castiel gingerly wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She guessed he thought she was sleeping already, seeing that he was starting to relax now. Hermione didn't mind at all and in fact snuggled deeply into his chest.

Soon, she was fast asleep.

* * *

The boggart zoomed in front of Sam and it turned into a crazed, maniacal clown. Completely terrified, the younger Winchester drew out his gun and started firing bullets towards the magical creature. It did not surprise Hermione that it had no effect on the boggart.

"SAM!" she cried. "Get out of the way!"

He scrambled away and landed on his bum. Dean then came into rescue, his gun also brandished in front of him. The boggart soon turned into an image of his brother, but this time, with an evil glint in his eyes.

"You think you can stop me from possessing your brother, Dean?" the boggart drawled. Hermione then was suddenly struck with the fact that Dean's boggart was Sam possessed by Lucifer. "It is his destiny to say 'yes' to me. He is my true vessel. Your petty effort to drag your brother all over the world to avoid me is futile, Dean Winchester."

"You son of a bitch," Dean drawled, stupidly firing his gun. Like what had happened before, it had no effect on the boggart. "You  _son of a bitch_. I am going to kill you, you hear me?"

"For heaven's sake!" Hermione cried, pushing Dean away. He missed a shot and fired a bullet through the attic window. It shattered loudly, surprising Dean, who also toppled away and landed on his stomach, falling unconscious. Sam quickly scrambled to his brother and pulled him away.

Hermione brandished her wand and shakily pointed it at the boggart. It was just unfortunate that it changed its shape once again. The familiar red slits glared down at her, an inhumane laugh escaping from Lord Voldemort's form.

"You think you can escape me, child?" he bombarded. The familiar fear gripped her heart once again and her mind instantly became fuzzy. The word 'Riddikulus' sat at the very tip of her tongue but all of her muscles seemed to freeze with fear. "The brightest witch of her age, eh? What will your precious  _followers_ feel if they discovered that their mighty Golden Girl had fallen?"

Tears sprang up at the corner of her eyes. She placed both of her hands against her ears and shakily glared. "S-stop," she sobbed. "P-please stop."

Another chilling laughter escaped from his lips and she tumbled aside. Amidst the noise, a soft fluttering of wind and wings was left unheard. It was only when Castiel stood in front of her and stretched out his hand made her realize that he had arrived. White light shot out from his hand and the boggart instantly vanished. A deafening silence followed, save from Hermione's heavy breathing.

She fell down on the floor in a messy heap, sniffling loudly as she absentmindedly wiped away her tears. Dean finally stirred and groaningly woke up.

He sat up and looked around. Upon seeing Hermione's distressed face, he glared. "Where is that son of a bitch?" he growled. "I'm going to tear him into pieces!" His rage was so tremendous that he did not notice that his nose was bleeding from the impact of his fall.

Bobby chose that time to jog inside the attic, his beloved shot gun clutched tightly in his hands. Upon seeing the state of his attic, he sighed in relief. "Is it gone now?" he asked.

Castiel nodded.

"I-I'm sorry about your attic window, Bobby," Hermione croaked from the floor.

The old man's eyes softened. "Idjit," he gruffly said. "There are more important things to worry for now, girl."

"Are you all right, Hermione?" Sam called from beside Dean. She looked at him and watery smiled; his concern for her was obvious, it was almost heart-warming. Who knew she would come to love two of the most impossible American boys she had ever met?

"I'm fine," she said, absentmindedly accepting Castiel's proffered hand. "I-I'm sorry you had to see that… monster."

The angel eased her up effortlessly and she smiled up at him in gratitude. "Thanks, Angel Boy," she earnestly said, tiptoeing to give him a kiss on his cheek.

"I swore to protect you," he repeated for the umpteenth time.

"Oh, go get a room," Dean snapped, finally noticing that he was bleeding. "That bastard almost broke my nose. If I come across another fucking boggart in my life, I am going to tear him into shreds."

"I'm surprised one was lost in your attic, Bobby," Hermione said, turning to the old man.

"Likewise," he said, shrugging his shoulders. "I've seen weirder things before, though, so I'm used to it." Bobby looked at the other boys in the room. "Anyone likes some beer?"

Dean's face lit up at the mention of the alcoholic beverage and instantly stood up. When he passed Hermione, he playfully ruffled her hair and followed Bobby down the staircases. Sam was the last to follow and he gave the brunette a comforting smile, which she returned.

Soon, it was only her and Castiel that were left in the attic.

"That monster…" the angel started after a few minutes of silence. His eyes narrowed in honest curiosity and he slightly tilted his head. "Was that the object of your nightmares?"

"Yeah," she said, nodding her head. Upon seeing his concerned face, she smiled once again. "I'm fine. You just arrived in the nick of time."

Castiel's face was blank for a while, before he nodded his head. "The others are waiting," was all he said, before he disappeared from the attic.

Hermione couldn't help but smile upon hearing Dean's sudden shout of surprise. She had this inkling Castiel appeared once again in places he was not supposed to be.

As she finally descended the stairs, she had considerably calmed down. It was surprising how she easily brushed off this boggart-turned-Voldemort incident for today.

Yes, definitely. She was okay.

* * *

Upon striding inside the bar, Castiel expelled a huge sigh of relief. From one of the barstools sat an obviously intoxicated Hermione Granger.

With a disapproving frown, the angel fished the cell phone that Dean had given to him a few months ago. It took him a few minutes until he finally found Dean's number (the contraption still immensely boggled him). He pressed the correct button and placed the phone against his ear.

It rang thrice before Dean picked up.

"I found her," Castiel said. From the other end of the line, Dean expelled a humongous sigh.

" _Thank God,"_ the older Winchester said. For a moment, he heard similar sighs of relief from beside Dean. Castiel reckoned both Bobby and Sam were listening.  _"Listen, tell that bitch that I am not going to forgive her for scaring us today. Just… just bring her home, Cas."_

"I will," the angel said. Their conversation ended and Castiel pocketed his cell phone.

Earlier that day, Dean summoned him into Bobby's house. There was this urgency in his voice, alarming Castiel. Dean rarely called for him nowadays; it was mostly Hermione who summoned him. For the older Winchester to call him suddenly made Castiel conclude that something was definitely wrong.

He was proven right when he arrived in Bobby Singer's house with the only female resident missing from the group. Apparently, when they all woke up, Hermione was gone. Her belongings were still inside, much to their relief, but they still could not contact her. Hermione refused to answer her phone and although Dean and Sam already searched for her with their Impala, they still could not find her.

Castiel finally located her in a bar a hundred miles from Sioux Falls.  _'No wonder she could not be found,'_ he thought, now strolling towards the drunken brunette. She immediately spotted him and she sloppily grinned.

"Here comes my trench-coated angel!" she exclaimed chirpily, gaining her some glares and suspicious looks from the other customers. Castiel ignored all of them and wrapped an arm around Hermione's shoulders.

"I'm bringing you back," he stated, but she roughly pushed him away.

"Leave me alone, Angel Boy," she whined, turning back to her half-empty mug of alcohol. "My –  _hic_ – beer will be lonely without me." To complete her sad, poor state, she pouted at her mug.

The angel tried his very best not to roll his eyes. After months and months of hanging around the Winchesters, Bobby, and the broken brunette, Castiel was able to pick up some of their traits and attitudes. It was a shame impatience was one of them. 

Castiel then grabbed her arm and disappeared from the bar, disregarding the fact that there were approximately a fifty or more set of eyes that would see this supernatural occurrence.

They immediately appeared inside Bobby's study room. Hermione yelped and tried to punch Castiel, but the angel calmly pinned both of her arms behind her back.

"Where have you been?" Dean thundered upon their arrival. He glared darkly at the brunette, but Castiel was able to see his true emotions. He was amazed, and perhaps a little baffled, that humans still tried to hide their emotions instead of being true to themselves.

He was brought back to the current situation when Hermione raised one of her feet and roughly kicked Dean's stomach. The older Winchester doubled over and Sam had to restrain him from pouncing on the brunette. "Leave me alone, Winchester!" she spat.

"Bring her upstairs," Bobby drawled, rolling his eyes. "Our little princess here needs an awful lot of rest."

Castiel did not need to be told twice. They disappeared once again and reappeared in Hermione's room. By the time they arrived, angry tears were already streaming down from her eyes.

"Leave me alone," she cried petulantly, trying to push Castiel. "This… this is all your fault, you bastard!" She pointed an accusatory finger at him. "If… if you haven't brought me here, my life would have been perfect!" Hermione started to punch his chest, cursing him loudly to relay her anger, but Castiel calmly allowed her, not even feeling a fraction of pain from her assault.

There was a part of him, though, that wished he could at least feel a little physical pain.

Months and months of fighting and researching had finally taken its toll on the witch. Yesterday, they already discovered a way to defeat Lucifer, which was to sacrifice Sam's life, and Hermione was surprisingly the one who loudly refused. The idea that someone close to her would be gone soon, coupled with the fear of finally facing the two powerful angels that brought her where she currently was, terrified her so much that she opted to run away from them all for today.

Her scars from the Second War were still healing, and for a new, deep one to replace them… Hermione was terrified, and Castiel could feel it.

"I am sorry," was all he could say, prompting Hermione to helplessly laugh.

"I know," she said in defeat, plopping down on her bed. At loss of what to do, Castiel knelt down in front of her and thoughtfully looked at her gleaming eyes. She was still intoxicated when she gingerly touched his cheek and rubbed her thumb against it. "Castiel, I'm scared."

He raised a hand and placed it on top of hers. "I know you are," he said. "But I swore to protect you. You will be all right."

She grievously closed her eyes and chuckled. "Of course you'll protect me," she whispered. "My trench-coated angel." Her warm, brown eyes fluttered open once again and she sloppily smiled. "It seemed so long ago when I first met you, Castiel."

The angel was surprised when she placed her other hand on his other cheek. She cradled his face on both of her hands for a full minute and Castiel  _swore_ there was a strange feeling somewhere in his chest. "My trench-coated angel," she murmured once again, prompting his eyes to slightly close.

The next thing he knew, her pair of warm, soft lips were pressed gently against his. It was brief, but the effect on him was tremendous. His intense blue eyes were wide with wonder and shock, but the brunette merely smiled.

"You want to know a secret, Castiel?" she slurred, followed by a giggle. Her alcohol-glazed eyes connected with his and she earnestly smiled. "I think I might be in love with you."

He fell on his bottom in utter surprise. Hermione, on the other hand, stared at him with her wide, doe-like eyes.

"I mean, you appeared to me with all your trench coat, blue eyes, and bloody angel-powered glory, claiming that I'm important in some damn Apocalypse," she softly slurred. "What's not there to love, Castiel?"

Castiel immediately scrambled onto his feet. With a frown, he could already imagine the jokes that would be coming out from Dean and Sam if they saw their usually composed angel frazzled and aggravated.

He turned away from the suddenly silent witch and started rambling.  _Rambling_ , for heaven's sake. "I-I'm sure…" he started, awkwardly licking his lips. It tasted like strawberries and beer.  "I didn't…" He turned back around, only to see that Hermione had already passed out and was slumbering silently on her bed.

Unwittingly, he smiled. He reckoned that he had been smiling quite a lot these past few months, and it was all thanks to the four human beings that he grew accustomed of.

The angel walked closer to Hermione and placed her into a more comfortable position. He removed her shoes and tucked her under her comforter. For a moment, he merely stared at her, before involuntarily bending down to give her a soft kiss on her forehead.

That weird feeling in his chest thudded once again and he stepped back, frowning. Castiel then turned around and walked down the stairs. By the time he appeared before the three men, he was already back to being composed and calm Cas.

"Good," Dean said, expelling a ridiculously long sigh. "I thought I was starting to hear moans up there."

Castiel slightly tilted his head in wonder. "I am not entirely sure as to why there should be moaning involved," he honestly said, his blue eyes a little wide.

Sam exasperatedly sighed, glaring slightly at his brother. "Never mind him, Cas," he said. "Is Hermione all right?"

"Just a little stressed," the angel said. "Which is, of course, expected from her."

"Well then, we must leave the girl alone," Bobby suggested. When both Dean and Sam looked at him strangely, he rolled his eyes. "Do you expect me to be so cranky about this now? Idjits, I can be nice, too."

Castiel smiled. "I must be going then," he said. "I still need to go to Jerusalem to further research." He pursed his lips and hesitated for a while. "If Hermione wakes up…"

"We'll call you immediately," Sam assured while Dean rolled his eyes.

The angel nodded and briefly looked upstairs.

With a flutter of wind and wings, he was gone.

"Angel Boy here got it so bad," Dean casually said, shaking his head. He plopped down on one of the chairs and popped open another bottle of alcohol. "I wonder if he knows."

His brother shrugged and returned back to his laptop. "Who knows?" Sam said. "It's Castiel we're talking about." Sam then looked up from his laptop and stared at Bobby. "Listen here, Bobby, I found out that…"

* * *

They arrived outside her apartment and Castiel could see the nostalgia on Hermione's face.

"It had almost been a year now, eh?" she softly asked, slightly inclining her head to look at the angel standing beside her. "I somehow miss home."

Home. Was this her home? For the past year, Castiel thought it had always been Bobby Singer's house, full of testosterones and their self-sacrificing egos. The angel was confused and downright strangely irritated. Perhaps it would be wise to drop by another liquor store and drink  _it_ once he leaves her here.

' _Tempting,'_ he thought, his blue eyes slightly glazed with silent yearning.

"Castiel?" she asked, bringing him back to the present.

He looked back at her, sombre, and secretly at a loss of what to do. Ever since Sam had been trapped in Lucifer's cage, strange emotions started stirring in his vessel's heart. Or was it his? Once again, Castiel was very confused. Dean already chose to give up being a hunter and live with a woman named Lisa and her son, Ben. Bobby was back to his business as a salvager. And Castiel… well, now that Michael was locked up together with Lucifer, he predicted that there would be utter chaos in heaven. He thought, he  _believed_  it was his duty to make everything right once again.

After all, there was free will in him already. It would be best if he relayed it to his fellow brothers and sisters.

But one thing that had troubled him the most was Hermione's flabbergasting request. She could tell him to stay with her, or she could accompany Dean and continue hunting. Damn it all, she could even live with Bobby and nurse their broken hearts of Sam's painful sacrifice.

But no,  _oh no_.

She requested to forget her whole year as a hunter.

Nobody knew it, except Castiel. Of course he knew everything that she wanted since it had always been him that she went to every time she had problems and ideas. The angel knew the loud protests that Dean Winchester and Bobby Singer would exclaim if they discovered it. That was why Hermione decided to keep it between them.

The events for her had been too painful and tiring. She grew quite close to the Winchesters and Bobby; she thought it was exhausting. She was, after all, a broken woman. After fighting their war against the King of Hell and the Angels of Heaven, she reckoned she had had enough.

Castiel couldn't blame her, though. She had been through enough, had seen enough, had  _done_ enough. It somehow relieved him, that she did not request for him to  _end_ her life.

' _But it seemed a little unfair,'_ a small, nagging voice whispered at the back of his mind. She would forget everything. She would forget the Winchesters. She would forget Bobby.

She would forget  _him_.

Castiel did not see any reason for him to appear and disappear right in front of her whenever he liked. His duty to protect her had long been accomplished, seeing that the Apocalypse was already halted. After all, the exact orders from above was to protect her until the Apocalypse problem was solved.

"Castiel," she said once again, this time reaching for his hand and giving it a squeeze.

His intense, blue eyes connected with her warm, brown ones and a myriad of emotions swam inside his chest.

"I'm sorry, but I have to do this," she whispered, pleading for him to understand. Her eyes were already bright with unshed tears and Castiel had no choice but to give her an understanding smile.

Of course he knew she had to do this. But that did not mean he wanted it at all.

"Please say something," she pleaded, raising her hand and placing it against his cheek. Out of instincts, his eyes fluttered close, marvelling her gentle touches. He slightly leaned against her palm and sighed, once again opening his eyes to stare at her.

"I swore to protect you," was all he could say.

A small tear trailed down from her eyes and she smiled. "I know you did," she told him back. "And I'm sure you always will."

It was the painful truth as this particular witch had managed to squeeze herself in his troubled, obedient, and cold heart.

But then again, he knew nothing  _more_ could happen between them. He had mused about this ever since her drunken confession. He knew she remembered that night and she knew he  _knew_. They never really spoke about it anymore, afraid of what would happen if they touched this particularly sensitive topic. Hermione continued being her sweet, old self and Castiel… well, he continued helping them with the Apocalypse.

It was a funny thing how he actually considered it. A life with her, that is. He wondered what it would be like if he were to give up his grace; Anna managed to do it, and for a while she was happy. He tried to imagine a future with Hermione and good God, he already felt  _happy_ just by doing so. But the reality that he was an angel and she was a mere mortal always marred those happy musings.

After all, Castiel still loves his Father very much.

"Do it once you're ready, Cas," she whispered.

Something painful stabbed his chest and he looked away. Her tears had increased and Castiel did not know what to do. She was asking him to do the impossible, but the most  _sensible_ of this twisted relationship between them.

Her hand on his cheek travelled down to his shoulder and she tiptoed a little. Her breath brushed against his cheek and he closed his eyes once again.

"I do love you, you know," she whispered against his ear.

Castiel opened his mouth, desperately wanting to answer back, but then he stopped and caught himself. He was sure that whatever he answered, he was bound to feel immense regret.

Instead, he turned his face towards her and stared intently into her eyes. For a fleeting moment, his eyes landed on her slightly parted lips, before returning back to her disarming, brown eyes.

"I have one last request, Castiel," she whispered, smiling fondly up at him. She moved closer until her lips were a hairsbreadth away from his. He unwaveringly held her gaze until she fluttered her eyes close. "Kiss me back."

And then, she placed her lips against his. Fire burst inside his chest and he instantly wrapped his arms around her torso. His lips met hers passionately and Castiel distractedly thought that even if she did not request him to kiss her back, he would do so anyway.

She pulled away for a moment, before giving him a quick peck. Castiel's eyes slowly opened and he found himself staring back at her brown ones.

"Thank you," she softly whispered, giving him one last peck. She then completely pulled away and stepped away from his embrace. It was strange how Castiel instantly felt a little cold.

"Maybe someday I can remember you again," she softly told him, offering him a watery smile. "My trench-coated angel."

Her statement held so much hope. Castiel couldn't help but hang on to her silent promise like a lifeline. For now, he had other things to do but he swore to everything that he believed and cherished that he would find her again.

And maybe then, he would be ready to tell her how he really,  _truly_ felt.

"Perhaps," he answered back.

Shakily, he lifted his right hand. He pressed his index and middle fingers on her forehead. For a moment, there was a glazed expression in her eyes. And then soon, it was gone.

* * *

Hermione blinked her eyes and confusedly looked around. She was standing right in front of her apartment. The last thing she remembered was having a meeting with the Aurors back in the Ministry of Magic.

' _Odd,'_ she told herself, looking around. A tear trailed down from her eyes, surprising her. She lifted a hand and felt the tears that were streaming down from her face.

She felt a little sad. Maybe even empty.

' _But why?'_ she asked herself, turning around. To her utmost surprise, a strange, trench-coated man was standing a few feet away from her, an unreadable expression on his face. "Hello," she said, hastily wiping her tears away. "Can I help you?"

Hermione was surprised with how his eyes filled with a myriad of emotions. For minutes, he merely stood there, his startling blue eyes never leaving her form. There was something oddly familiar with him; she just couldn't quite put a finger on it.

"You dropped your keys on your way back home," he then said, opening his palm and showing her her apartment keys.

She smiled in gratitude and snatched the keys from his hand. "Thank you, mister," she said.

He inclined his head and Hermione turned around. She was about to reach for her doorknob when a strange sound of wind and fluttering wings reached her ears. Curious, she turned around.

The trench-coated man was already gone.


End file.
